


A Song called Danger

by ModernArt2012



Category: Naruto
Genre: A lot - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Day Four: Marriage of Convinence/ Alternate Universe, Family Politics, Homophobia, M/M, MadaTobi Week 2019, Madara Fucks Up, Politics, Rated T for language, Sibling Love, Sibling fights, Situation Normal Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition, Waking Up Married, accidentally married, and the aftermath, be warned, lots of homophobia, some physical violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 13:54:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20154685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ModernArt2012/pseuds/ModernArt2012
Summary: Predictably, Hashirama wakes him up from his alcohol-induced stupor.What is not usual: “You know, best friend of mine, I did not need to find out from the Society pages that you’re fucking my brother.” Though the tone is cheerful over the phone, the underlying steel gained by the phrasing instantly alerts Madara that he had best wake up now lest he end up dismembered.Or, Waking Up Married (By Accident) and the Falloutand the Fall Together





	A Song called Danger

**Author's Note:**

> This started as the first MadaTobi fic I ever attempted to write. Meaning, I started this nearly 3 years ago (and yes, I know it shows), and every year since I have sworn I would finish it. This year.... is still not that year, but by Jove I'm going to at least post the first chapter!
> 
> <strike> Shhhhh, I know I need to update HiWtHi but I'm a bit stuck with that one rn okay. Plz, mercy</strike>
> 
> I think what also shows is that this is another exploration of family, but in the negative, in the scary, in the hard and unsupportive and derisive. That is to say, this fic explores two people throw together by something they can't undo and having to live with the consequences, especially as it relates to a homophobic family and a homophobic society. It is not gentle in that regard, and if that is a trigger in any way shape or form for you, please be warned. If you, the reader, come across anything else that needs to be tagged, please let me know.

Predictably, Hashirama wakes him up from his alcohol-induced stupor.

What is not usual: “You know, best friend of mine, I did not need to find out from the Society pages that you’re fucking my brother.” Though the tone is cheerful over the phone, the underlying steel gained by the phrasing instantly alerts Madara that he had best wake up  _ now _ lest he end up dismembered. 

“... I’m fucking your brother?” Right, he’s dead. Izuna is going to be an only child; clearly his brain took the phrase and decided that it ought to be repeated as a question instead of doing the right thing and denying the accusation. Nevermind that Madara is  _ sure _ that he’s never had sexual relations with Tobirama. (Not for a lack of wanting to, but a lack of  _ trying _ . Madara likes living, and previous evidence would have him believe Tobirama would murder him before even entertaining the thought of sleeping with him.)

Hashirama has clearly decided that dropping the hippie-pacifist front for the ex-Special Ops Commander reality is the only course of action. “Well, considering that I’m staring at the front of the Society pages and they are covered with images of you and Tobirama in a  _ very involved _ match of tonsil hockey, I feel safe in my assumptions about your sex life. But that’s not the most interesting thing.” Madara grabs the notepad and pen from his nightstand and starts updating his will. It’d be legal as long as he labels it his last will and testament and puts the date, right?

Madara pauses, mid-gifting his favorite flamethrower to Izuna, cursing his past self for not running away from the weird kid with the bowl cut in the park. (Also for joining the Army with his best friend, going Special Forces with his best friend. Really everything.) “... On a scale of 1 to Mito in the delivery room, how afraid should I be?”

“Oh, this is a solid ‘Flee for your Life’ situation. Complete FUBAR if you will. See, the  _ most _ interesting thing about this is that I’ve also got a copy of your marriage license here on my desk too.”

There’s silence as Madara’s brain tries to reboot away from the Blue Screen of Death currently overriding his mental processes.

Then it’s broken by a low groan and a shift on the mattress behind him. 

“That must be Tobirama. Go gather your husband and get yourselves decent- and cover any obvious hickies, for Sage’s sake, I don't need a bigger PR nightmare with you both looking like you just fell out of a tumble in the hay- then get yourselves to my office by twelve hundred hours - two hours from now,” the low dark huff of amusement on the other end of the phone belied what they both knew. Tobirama was not someone who dealt well with being woken up or mornings in general, and even if Hashi had felt generous and given them four hours, it might not have been enough time. Madara wished he could use this as proof positive to his best friend’s supporters that their beloved elected leader was secretly a sociopath, but alas, they wouldn’t believe him.

The groan calls again, the whimper of one who has overindulged the night previous and is regretting everything ever. He can’t bring himself to look, because he’s only wearing a sheet and has a suspicion that his bedmate is in the same state. What he can do is pass the bottle of ibuprofen he keeps in the drawer - he might be a tetchy bastard, but he’s not an outright evil. His voice is gruff with sleep (not with  _ overuse _ , oh Sage, brain don’t go there), “Here.” 

“Thank you.” And that morning voice belongs on a phone sex line; thank you Life, Madara  _ really _ needed that knowledge. He buries his face in his hands with a pained moan, abruptly cut off by the feel of warm metal against his forehead. He never wears his ring to bed, and it’s  _ the wrong hand _ . With a full- body recoil that saved his life in the sands of Suna and in the wetlands of Ame, he gets a first look at the heavy antique gold ring on his left hand. It’s slightly oversized, butted up against the first knuckle of his ring finger without resistance, and the Senju symbol is as foreign as the weight of the ring, but it’s recognizable. Which, Madara supposes, was the point, back in the day when sometimes it was the only way to differentiate between equally broken, pulverized bodies. 

A heavy coughing noise behind him reorients him to the present, but since there has been a distinct lack of pills being poured out of the bottle, Madara is going to surmise that his husband (oh Sage, that’s staggering to think) is not choking and in need of CPR. Thank his sainted ancestors (or not, considering their bloody feud with the Senju and all....)

There’s no helping it now, Madara’s the Head of Clan Uchiha, former Special Ops and Police Commissioner besides. He can face this with all the fortitude of an adult. He twists to see the opposite side of his bed, parallel to the panel of windows that mark the exterior wall, and promptly has to dig his nails into his palms to stop himself from swallowing his tongue. Or flushing. Or both. Not that his heart isn’t doing its damnedest to win the Kusa Derby from his chest anyways. The traitor. 

It wasn’t like Madara  _ wasn’t _ aware Tobirama is by-and-large considered attractive, modelesque by some, striking red accents against silvery-white hair and pale skin eye-catching. He’d simply thought he’d become inured after 2 (nearly 3!) decades of exposure, only to have that theory forcibly disproven when face to face the man in a state of undress and half-sleep. Right. Disheveled, slightly stubbly, gilded and toned muscles, sheets pooled at the waist. Clearly Tobirama had missed his calling as a male underwear model. Also, curse the famed Uchiha memory. Madara knew he was going to be plagued by that sight for the rest of his life, and at some inopportune moment too, and then Hashirama would kill him, bring him back from the dead, and  _ then kill him dead again _ from having Tobirama mentally classified as ‘sex personified’. And for staring. 

Tobirama (the  _ asshole _ ) quirks his lips slightly into a small sardonic grin, letting Madara continue staring as he wriggled the fingers of his left hand in a mockery of a wave, “I believe you explain this, then.” 

The dull glint of iron looks a lot like his clan ring - and given the circumstances, it probably is. Madara inhales sharply, ready to fire back, before catching the time and exhaling slowly. “We have an...  _ appointment _ with your brother in an hour and fifty-five minutes. Considering that we’ll have to fight traffic, we ought to rush.” He glared pointedly, his unspoken ‘ _ because you take literal years to get ready _ ’ already stiffening Tobirama’s spine.

  
Then he catches sight of black boxer briefs hanging off the door handle, and decides that a total retreat would not be amiss in this situation - it is  _ not _ running away, it is a valid tactical maneuver. He grabs the closest article of clothing for modesty’s sake as he exits (flees) into the bathroom. 

* * *

The Hyuuga that meets them at the entrance to the Mayor’s office is perfunctorily polite and pointedly judgemental, something that sets Madara’s nerves on end and apparently qualifies for a pinched “happy” smile from Minato, who unlike his own assistant had appeared as if out of nowhere bearing the gift of coffee. Madara makes note of the smile; no one in the District Attorney’s office should have a “justifiable homicide” face.

His phone rings insistently from his pocket, but he silences it without looking. It’s probably another Elder in the camp of “Marrying a Senju is a Disgrace to the Clan, Your Ancestors are Turning in their Graves, blah blah blah”. If Obito hadn’t been hauled out by the Peace Corps for rock slide relief, Madara would have stuck him on fomenting rebellion within the younger generations of Uchiha. (Somewhere in Fire Country, Cousin Kagami is laughing at him. Madara could swear he can hear him.)

At least Tobirama is similarly displeased. During their car ride, he’d fielded his own fair share of Senju Clan Elders who were upset, irate, and abusive at length and volume. He’d also had exactly one call that consisted solely of raucous laughter, also at length and volume. (Probably Tōka.)

Hashirama finally deigns to show up, in a flurry of robes of office and papers and failing at even pretending he’s on anything but a warpath. Madara straightens his spine, and can feel Tobirama do the same beside him. Minato and Madara's security detail take one look and flee out the back of Hashirama’s office like sensible people. Madara makes a brief mental note to fire them all.

Thankfully, Hashirama has the sense to wait until the door clicks shut before letting loose on them. “So I suppose I  _ should _ congratulate you. Though, I must say that this,” he gestures between them, “is completely out of left field. I’ve already fielded more calls than I care to think about this morning from various individuals decrying the situation or claiming it’s a conspiracy. “ Hashirama steeples his fingers and glares at them pointedly. “Madara. Tobirama. Please, for the Love of the Sage, tell me this was the culmination of  _ years _ of dating you’ve both managed to keep under wraps and this is all  _ completely deliberate _ .”

Whatever their faces betray makes Hashirama fling himself out of his chair and curse virulently as he strides about the office in a flurry of explosive rage. “I imagine that you want to annul this? Divorce? Make this all go away.” 

“Of course, Anija - ,” Tobirama begins, only to be cut off as Hashirama suddenly calms, and smiles. Madara, possessing first-hand knowledge of that smile being the same smile that made a Suna terrorist who had just blown up a school full of children pee himself, starts eyeing the distance to the nearest exit and gauging if he could make it before the bloodbath began in earnest. Maybe with enough of a leap he could land by the cabinet, and then tuck and roll to safety? He’d have to leave Tobirama to fend for himself ....

“Are you kidding me right now?” Hashirama measuredly returns to sit in his chair, steepling his fingers and staring them down over. The effect is a thousand times more sinister, though, with the slasher-homicide smile still making an appearance. “Do either of you happen to recall the latest piece of legislation we passed? The one we  _ all _ put our blood, sweat, tears, and many many many sleepless nights into pushing through?”

Tobirama catches the insinuation immediately. “The Equality Act.” 

“The Equality Act. That little bill that means no Clan can deny their LGBT+ members completely equal rights as any other member of their clan. Little things, like can’t force them to marry, LGBT+ individuals can be out and open about their sexuality and gender without fear being kicked out of their family, get married and have their marriage recognized and not forcibly dissolved, little things like that.” 

Madara clenches his fists, remembering the massive celebrations that had ensued once the Equality Act had passed, and the more vicious murmurings of Clans who opposed the Act and the way it infringed on their ability to...  _ police _ their members into conformation with the accepted status quo. Some of the things he had seen during his tenure as a beat cop... he had been glad that the Act had passed. “A high-profile divorce like this would undermine the Act, wouldn’t it.”

Hashirama smiles gets that much more pinched, aggrieved and angry, jaw jumping with barely constrained violence, “It’s a little more complicated than that, and you know it. The Act means Clans can’t ignore the rights of or outright cast out their LGBT+ members, but still only a minority of LGBT+ citizens report believing it’s safe to be out and open with their sexuality, and an even smaller proportion of that belong to Clans.” And when Clans still held major sway in city politics, it was easy to understand why people would be wary. Two very high profile members of the two arguably most powerful Clans being openly married would be .... difficult to argue against. 

“So we’re the new poster children for the Equality Act,” Tobirama summed up the situation concisely. He rubs the bridge of his nose tiredly. 

“You practically volunteered yourselves,” Hashirama agrees pure ignited magnesium bright, his sunshine grin only barely missing the mark for baring his teeth in pure threat. “Now, get the hell out of my office and fix this PR nightmare for me. Or I will make sure that the two of you deal with the Clan Elders alone.”

* * *

“Fixing PR nightmares” tends to mean statements, among other things, something Madara is well aware that he’s only barely skating by on because he usually gives Fugaku and Izuna free reign. Unfortunately, he’s not sure either of them are going to be willing to put together a statement for this. 

The Law Library is quiet yet populated, dark wood, darker leather, and the strong scent of coffee. Tobirama stands out like a beacon of light in all that darkness, spine braided steel and pen flying like barely contained lightning among the hunched figures and ponderous note taking. 

His own notepad is ... lacking. There are exactly three bullets listed:

  * PR - ~!?
  * Clan(s) - $%^#!&*
  * Izuna (!!!!)

He scowls; so it reads more like a to do list than a PR statement. He walks his pen across his fingers, then back again because he doesn’t  _ want _ to deal with any of these. He wants to go home and feed his cats and maybe play patty-cake with baby Itachi and teach him how to annoy Fugaku. It’s best to start young with these things.

A sigh breaks him out of his reverie. “There is no feasible way to convince the populous we’ve been secretly dating for years.” 

“Senju, you’re saying words but they don’t make sense. Aren’t you, as a lawyer, supposed to be good with words?” 

Tobirama glares at him over reading glasses, “Dearest husband, please keep up. You’re just as much Senju now, you know.” 

Madara startles, because that hadn’t quite sunk in, and he utters a mild startled oath, “ _ I’m related to Hashirama now. _ ” 

“And I’m related to Izuna now. Funny how this ‘marriage’ thing works.” He flips over his phone before frowning. “I think the Elders figured that out as well; I have Uchiha leaving me multiple voicemail.”

Madara recoils in horror at the mere mention of the Clan Elders, then thinks better of it, “If you manage to make any of them cry, resign, or keel over dead I will swear to serve you faithfully for all eternity.”

Tobirama looks intrigued, “...If you deal with the Senju Elders, I’ll deal with the Uchiha?”

“Deal.” If the Senju Elders were at all used to dealing with Tobirama or Hashirama, he’d be able to steamroll them into submission in short order. Which... “Hey, let me see what you have for a statement.” 

“What.” Tobirama eyes him like he had grown a second head. 

Madara simply repeats the grabby hands motion, “Statement. Gimme.” 

Tobirama scoffs humorously, but hands over the heavily inked notepad “Finally showing your actual age, Madara?”

“Considering I regularly feel like an 80 year old, I distinctly hope not,” Madara fires back good naturedly. He flips by ink stained pages, grimacing at the frankly atrocious sentences that crossed and were subsequently crossed out upon the page. “This doesn’t have to be a legal brief, just enough to make our,” here he glanced up at Tobirama to check that the pronoun was appropriate and finding no protest, “our stance clear. Which, in this case, is that we’re married, happy, and that we will continue to do our jobs to the best of our ability for the betterment of Konoha and her people?”

Tobirama considers, then nods. “Short and concise. Though the lightness of the details will cause uproar.”

Madara grins, “Ah, but  _ that’s the point _ . The people will fill in the blanks for themselves and by doing so we don’t have to.” Noodle Incident Theory at it’s finest.

A heavy, if amused sigh reaches his ears as he scratches out a particularly egregious misspelling to correct it. “Then let us consider two major obstacles eliminated. Can we move on to finer points of ... this?” The wide hand motion efficiently encompassed the whole of their situation. 

“Fine. Let’s.”

“I have several points I would like to clarify, as follows. Living situation, premarital assets and debts, delineation of individual and joint property, expectations and duties within the bonds of this marriage as well as to our respective Clans, as well as any other details that may arise during the course of discussion. ”

His jaw tenses as Madara looks up, his voice slathered with disbelief, “Are you already expecting divorce?” 

Tobirama has the grace to look awkward. “I ... would not stand to keep you from someone if you found a ... better suited partner in the future. I am similarly unable to ... stomach the idea of being cuckolded or being an adulterer. This would ... smooth the path in that instance, permitting for a quick and painless separation.” 

Madara winces, and carefully thinks around the times people had whispered of Butsuma Senju’s numerous mistresses, illegitimate offspring, the way Hashirama had carefully put on his best ditz facade in public in the face of rampant gossip and rumor, and cried rage-filled tears in private. “I - I will not cheat on you. That much I will guarantee to you here and now. But - “

“You’re still uncomfortable with divorce. That is difficult.” Tobirama’s lips pursed. 

“Difficult? Not even 24 hours and ‘divorce’ is on your list of things for a contingency plan! Don’t think I didn’t notice you were basically outlining a prenup, Senju!” 

“Well, it’s hardly impractical. It’s simply to ensure all parties know what they’re agreeing to, ensures your affairs remain yours and mine my own, and that no one else gets unnecessarily dragged into any future fallout. And lower your voice, we’re in a library.” His pointed glance at their audience reminds Madara that they are the newest gossip, and indebted students would  _ definitely _ sell gossip to the tabloids for quick money. He levels his own best ‘murder eyes’ face at the closest offenders and watches with no little satisfaction as their faces pale and they dive deeper into their texts.

When he’s finished glaring everyone in sight into submission, he sags into his seat with a sigh, scrubbing his face and trying not to startle at how  _ foreign _ the metal on his hand felt. “Let’s table the ‘divorce’ thing. I’m - it’s more complex than something that can be worked out publicly. Housing was on your list?” 

“Living situation, yes. I imagine that we ought to live together.” Tobirama rubs the tips of his fingers around the band of his ring. Madara’s ring. Tobirama’s ring. Both. 

“Your house is a  _ mess _ ,” Madara observes, recalling the baffling maze of a stand-alone home Tobirama owned. There was some system of organization, but not one any human could comprehend. 

“Like your minimalistic apartment is much better,” Tobirama sniffs affronted. 

“Says the man with a library. My apartment is mostly just for sleeping, so moving into your house would be easiest.” Madara pauses, then forges ahead, “But I’m not selling my condo.”

“That’s fine.” Tobirama checks his phone for the time, and grimaces. “We might as well devote the afternoon to fixing that situation, after lunch. I doubt the rest of this discussion will be particularly fruitful without references and proper annotation, especially because - “

“Clans.” Madara returns the wince. “There’s a cafe nearby that does good Kumo cuisine?”

“The one on 4th and a block down from the old Nara Library?” Tobirama rejoinders, interested. 

  
“I haven’t been in a while. Do you suppose they’ll do takeaway if we ask nicely?”

* * *

Madara would like to posit the question to the Universe at Large: How the hell did he wind up in this situation? Once again, he was sharing a bed with Tobirama Senju (Mother of the Sage,  _ was it even still Senju?) _ , only this time he’s  _ entirely aware of the bed sharing and wondering how the hell it came to this _ . 

Scratch that, he knew exactly how it came to this. Hashirama had moved out and no one was around to stop Tobirama from repurposing all the spare bedrooms for things other than “spare bedroom”. Which meant Madara was once again thrown into bed with Tobirama. 

Except not-drunk Tobirama asleep is an entirely different prospect from drunk Tobirama asleep, apparently, because while all attempts were made to be mature adults and evenly divide the queen mattress, Madara is awakened at - he stole a glance at the digital clock on the nightstand next to him and swore in his head - 3:17 in the fucking morning with the claustrophobic feeling of overheating. He’s over-dry, entirely sure his right side is completely deprived of blood flow from the lack of sensation, and trapped against the mattress under the weight of Tobirama sprawled across him. The cats on his feet aren’t helping.

More than anything Madara wants to escape, longs for the mountains upstate where Madara is reasonably sure he could disappear and never be found. Anywhere other than this overhot bed in this over-large house with it’s over-organized rooms with more functions than any one person should ever conceivably desire to need. Hashirama had once called this self-same house a gilded prison, and while back then Madara couldn’t understand, he definitely did now. 

Careful facedown sidewinding - and Sage dammit, there’s 1,000,000 ryo he owes his old Nara C.O. because he was so certain he’d never need this hell-move again after that time in Iwa - gets him out from under Tobirama and thumping gracelessly onto the frigid floor. Madara peeks over the edge of the bed stealthily, but Tobirama looks fast asleep with no immediate signs of waking. This is as good an invitation as any to creep out of the room, picking his way around the creaky floorboards that had plagued him earlier in the day. 

He’d gotten the pertinent house tour, in between bouts of arguing about just about everything. Some things needed having out immediately, like the state of Tobirama’s larder (atrocious, though the kitchen itself is also a horror that Madara is going to rectify once he has a free moment for a complete renovation), and the haphazard organization of the rest of the house. The games room made sense, the  _ whole floor library/ reading room  _ did not.

Speaking of things that don’t make sense, Madara smacks face first into a wall. “Damned Senju architects, 1000 talents and lining up hallways wasn’t one of them.” Of the many disjointed additions and changes made to the old Senju Mansion, the fact that hallways didn’t line up was one of the lesser violations to sensibility.

“To be entirely fair to them, they didn’t have fire codes to follow back then.” Tobirama spoke softly, sleep gruff yet somehow cognizant enough to block Madara’s startled right hook. “Any reason you’re contemplating Great-Aunt Mikasa’s trophy room door?”

“That’s a door?” Madara gestures bewildered to the gaudy fur-covered... door, apparently. “Nevermind, I don’t want to know. What are you doing up?”

“Contrary to popular belief, a massive thump to the floor tends to wake people up,” Tobirama yawned delicately, absentmindedly scratching the cat on his shoulder under the chin. Traitor. “Especially at 3am.” Then he takes a moment to look uncomfortable. “... Was it a nightmare?” 

“Nightmare?” Madara parroted back, confused. 

“Nightmare. Anija used to get them a lot. When he got back. You spent a full three years longer in the service than him.” Oh, that type of nightmare. 

“Ah. No. Too hot, and disoriented.” The silence fell awkwardly again. “I’m going to make coffee. Organize the study.” He makes an aborted gesture at Hanae, as if to take the cat who is doing his best impression of a scarf on Tobirama, but is waved off. 

“The coffee is in the cabinet next to the coffee maker. I - I’m going to finish the prenup. Would a general ‘everything I brought with me to this marriage is mine unless otherwise noted, no material or financial obligations to my spouse’ suit?”

Madara rolls the idea around in his head, “For the most part? Um, there are a few things that are traditional to leave for spouses, either way. Izuna’s bringing records by later today, it’ll be easier to figure that out then.” He turns, then thinks better of it. “Split the bills evenly too.” He's not going to be indebted to the Senju for anything, especially Tobirama.

“Of course.” Tobirama nods briskly, then turns back the way he came. 

It’s not that Tobirama doesn’t have a point, with the pre - post? - nuptial agreement, Madara grumbles as he sorts through the boxes they'd brought from his apartment office and tries ineffectively to reorganize the existing decor into something less garish and nautical. It’d protect Izuna, the Clan, from a meddling Senju and the rest of the Senju Clan. And it would go a long way to easing the minds of Elders who had family and friends killed during the Clan Wars. But it’s a double edged sword in that manner - just as easily taken as an admission of not going into this “marriage”, sham as it is, with the intent of working or making it work. The possible - probable - inclusion of an infidelity clause, even as innocuous as ‘infidelity will not be tolerated and is grounds for divorce, but will not render this document moot’ - would start a riot, even among the younger Uchiha. A hazard of a Clan that loved strongly, and prioritized that to the point of obsession. 

Madara winces at that admission. However internal that thought, it was still true. He scribbles a note to have Mikoto schedule a general course on healthy relationships, since really that sort of dependency is detrimental and unrealistic. Also how feuds start, if he remembers his history right. He bats at Ayame, who hasn’t (yet) thrown him over for white-and-red pastures, only to be startled by the buzz of his cellphone. The way Ayame vibrates tells him that his phone is under her, which precipitates Madara vainly  _ trying to move his cat _ . Of course he gets the cat who refuses to be moved unless it suits her. Sage dammit he put up the cat tree for her, ungrateful sack of tuna and catnip. 

“Nii-san, are you fighting the cat again?” Madara freezes, because that is the Universal Tone Of A Little Sibling Who Has Seen A Thing And Will Never Forget It. 

“No?” Maybe that will save him some embarrassment. Maybe. Plausibly. Slight chance. 

“That's a question, not a statement.” Izuna leans into view, his bag bulging awkwardly at his hip. “Ayame, bolt.” Ayame obligingly sits up and trots off, rotten little princess. “Want me to put this somewhere in particular?”

“Not particularly?” 

“Good.” Madara is blindsided by the swift and brutal right hook Izuna hauls off and lands across his face, sent reeling into the shelves. “You unmitigated jumped up narcissistic arrogant  _ asshole.”  _ Madara is sure he heard the thump of the bag dropping somewhere in that pause before Izuna is speaking again, steadily rising in volume until he is hoarse and shouting. “Where the hell do you get off? Seriously, where! Not only did you just marry someone  _ without even letting me know _ , you went and married a fucking  _ Senju _ . As in  _ Senju _ , my ex-girlfriend’s last name? The love of my life? The person you  _ told me _ it would never work out with since our families are “more or less mortal enemies”.” He can see the tears sparkling at the corners of Izuna’s eyes, the way his little brother’s lips tremble with barely suppressed rage and misery.

Madara doesn't know where to start, where to begin. “I- It's- There's -.” He tries to reach for his brother, his only living relative, the person their mother had told him to protect at all cost. 

His hand is slapped away. “No. Just - shut up.” Izuna is barely suppressed lightning rage flashing through his muscles, is locked and twitching. “You're turning out just like the Elders.” The jab sinks deep, a knife to the heart. Cuts the strings holding him up, and Madara slides to the floor, a collapsed pile of human flesh. Izuna passes through the door, and meets Tobirama at the threshold. “I hope you're happy together,” spat like venom, poisoning the air and everything it touched. 

Distantly Madara can hear his brother storming out, the slam on his feet against stairs and the ricochet of the front door against the frame echoing around. His blood is like ice, and Madara is frozen through. He knows intellectually that Tobirama is there, stockstill between the doorposts, the whole tableau something out of a gritty television drama. On instinct, his eyes meet Tobirama’s, and what he finds there is dispassionate, clinical, and cold. “Well. I’ll leave you to it then.” Tobirama pauses as he turns away. “I'll have a draft ready with breakfast for your review.”

The door clicks shut and it sounds like the final nail in a coffin hammered home.

**Author's Note:**

> So, please let me know what you think! I can't promise updates in a timely fashion - but this won't be abandoned! 
> 
> Title from [ Fire Under Water by Girl Blue ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nbxjybY0AYs%22)  
Songs to Listen to:  
[ First Day of My Life by Bright Eyes ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ztGPYPArAyE)  
[Let's Get Married by the Bleachers, as covered by Mitsuki](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l5zuvs8EZDY)  
Finally, [Come scream with me on tumblr!](http://modernart2012.tumblr.com/)  
I'm also on Pillowfort and twitter under the same username!


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